


Love has its regrets

by Delirioustarot



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alexis | Quackity Deserves Better, Angst, Falling In Love, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Love, M/M, Minor Violence, Not Beta Read, Their Love Is So
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:33:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delirioustarot/pseuds/Delirioustarot
Summary: "Did you love him?""He was my husband.""But did you love him?"
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt
Comments: 6
Kudos: 167





	Love has its regrets

“Quackity,” The voice wasn’t necessarily harsh, yet it felt like shards of glass carving into his spine. It was too cold. Quackity didn’t want to feel any colder than he already was. His eyes were locked on the coffin in front of him, hands gone numb from gripping the whiskey stained coat with vigor. 

“What do you want, Tubbo?” Every word he spoke felt like molasses in his throat. A part of him wished the feeling would choke him, drown him, drag him down to hell in pity so he could stop thinking. He wanted to yell, scream, lash out at the kid who led his husband to his death; like a lamb slaughter. Rationally he knew screaming at the kid wouldn’t help anything, he wasn’t really the one who killed Schlatt. If anything it was Quackity’s fault. Slowly watching the older man spiral and tumble down a rabbit hole of alcohol and too little sleep. 

He could feel the blue eyes burning into the back of his head, but he didn’t bother meeting them.  
Rain dribbled down the glass and cobblestone, Quackity liked to think it was the world mourning with him. Everyone else treated the service like a celebration and rationally he couldn’t blame them for doing it. The air was ripe with whiskey and smoke, until it wasn’t. The shift to sweet honey and flowers overwhelming his senses was key to knowing Tubbo was now standing right beside him. 

Neither spoke, but both could feel the tension thicken with each passing second. Tubbo fiddled with his button up anxiously. Distantly Quackity was reminded of the days in office where a certain President did the very same when he thought no one was looking. The boy shared a lot of traits of the dead man, and he wondered if there was something not even Quackity knew about Schlatt.

“Did you love him?” The question was muttered so quickly he nearly missed it. He shifted his gaze to meet Tubbo’s. Just for a moment he let himself drown in the soft ocean shade of the others, too similar to Schatt’s to ever be a coincidence. He shut his eyes for a moment, turning to the lifeless portrait hanging haphazardly above the casket that he tried to ignore. Quackity struggled to swallow the growing tightness in his throat. 

“He was my husband.” 

“But did you love him?” 

Memories overwhelmed him before he could blink. The days before the presidential race, the war, before the world went to shit. When he and Schlatt were still young, racing through the nether and breaking into villages. The quiet nights filled with loving silence sleeping under the stars holding each other. The pounding rush of adrenaline when the other grabbed him and kissed him for the first time.

Hot summer nights filled with fireflies and wandering hands. Followed by humid mornings full of whispered affections and gentle kisses on new bruises. The way Schlatt fumbled with words, but always managed to get the other red faced. Warm hazel and blue eyes shining with adoration and hands that just never seemed to loosen when on eachother. Matching silver rings that reflected the light just right. 

Slow music on cooling nights as they danced in drunken hazes, tripping on tispy footsteps and carefree movements. Soul lanterns washing them in pale light as Schlatt gripped Quackity like he would vanish if he let go. He wouldn’t, he would chase the other to the ends of the world. They were made for eachother in such a perfect way that you could only define them as soulmates. Adoring one another in such a deep way that flaws were nothing, simply more quirks to fawn over.

Quackity knew Schlatt was not a perfect man by any means. He may have been rude, narcissistic and cruel, but he truly cared for the country he led. Spending weeks on projects, wearing himself thin as he spiraled down a path so dark not even Quackity, and all the light he radiated, could save him. 

The mornings he spent scrubbing vodka and vomit from the floors, and soothing a very hungover Schlatt. Patching up bruised fists and walls with new holes, he never had the courage to scold the man when he already looked so defeated with himself. All Quackity could do was hold him the same as he had, but devotion doesn’t fix everything. Maybe he realized that too late.

It happened in slow motion. It started as such a small argument, Quackity could barely remember it being about the white house. Schlatt stood tense, half empty bottle in his hand and whiskey dribbling down his chin. His eyes were clouded with drunken anger, and the rest was a blurry haze of bits and pieces he had blocked out.

Quackity had been hit before, he fought in wars and had taken more than his fair share of beatings, but this one was different. This was his husband hitting him and the weight of his skull seemed to compress in the front of his face, and jerk back into his brain from the force of it. Neck snapping back harshly, causing a painful burn to run up and down his spine. All the air from his lungs had been seemingly sucked out. 

The crash to the floor was a cool numbness, followed by a warm sticky feeling. It was dizzying. He felt like he couldn’t see, or breathe. There was a high buzzing noise in his ears that made everything so muffled, he almost didn’t even know if he was awake. Once he was sure he was, he ran. He held his face and ran as fast as his legs could go. Cheek, nose and eyes throbbing with each fumbling step he took. He didn’t know where he was going, but didn’t care. In that moment Quackity had decided he would fight against Schlatt.

If he had stayed, would anything have changed? Would he still be shadowing over a box with the shell of a man he once yearned and chased? Was it wrong that he would've done anything for a man who ruined a country? Who did so many wrongs no one could see a right? Who left scars so deep in him they would never fade? The answer haunted him, twisting his heart and turning his stomach in ways that made him sick. Burying his face into the fading scent of whiskey and cigar smoke, trying not to regret the fact he hadn’t said those words out loud nearly enough.

Tubbo stared wide-eyed as Quackity wept into Schlatt’s worn out coat. The man who had stood strong through death and war, never showing anything but numbness and saccharine happiness, breaking down into pieces. He wanted to reach out and hug him, do something to console the defeated soul. He paused and opened his mouth to apologize, but Quackity cut him off.

“Yes,” his voice was stifled by the crumpled cloth he burrowed his face in, but Tubbo still heard the fondness and pure regret in it. “Of course I loved him. I always have.” Neither of them said anything else as the thunder echoed through the crater that was L’manburg. Everyone had lost a home, but only Quackity had lost a lover.


End file.
